Elizabeth Burra

My memory of the Coronation was not very exciting, but was probably typical of many.

At that time I had just returned from a year working in Germany. I was living at home in Sanford-on-Thames, prior to moving to a new job in Wantage.

Two schoolfriends and a Polish boyfriend planned to spend the night sleeping on the street in Piccadilly. At that time there was a sweetshop in the Banbury Road run by a friendly Belgian and he gave us four large sweet tins, about the size of buckets, with tight fitting lids. We filled these with suitable fodder for twenty-four hours and set off for London. We established our pitch in the evening, opposite Green Park, ate our supper and settled for the night.

I don’t remember our equipment, other than umbrellas, but we must have had blankets or sleeping bags and, I hope, cushions. It can’t have been much as we had come up by train with our large tins.

Luckily it did not rain during the night. I remember making myself relatively comfortable, stretched out on the pavement, only to find myself looking up at a large policeman. He said I was taking up too much room and had to ‘contract’ – which I did. The rest of the night is a blank.

After breakfast we settled ourselves on our empty tins, facing inwards, with umbrellas covering us like a large multiple mushroom. We must have got very wet but we passed the time chatting and joking with each other and our neighbours.

Of course, when the procession came it passed all too quickly but we had good views of the Queen and Prince Philip waving and smiling from their covered carriage. The only other person I remember seeing was the Queen of Tonga. Large, fat and beaming she stood in her open carriage in the rain, smiling and waving as though she was having the time of her life!

The only memory of the journey home is my first and only feeling of panic in a crowd as we queued in a great squash at the entrance to the underground.